


Fifty Eight Vorns

by naboru



Series: War Veteran [2]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of War, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slice of Life, implied trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 15:21:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8538184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naboru/pseuds/naboru
Summary: Brawl has been through a lot mostly unharmed, but it’s catching up on him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Continuity:** G1, pre-war  
>  **Disclaimer:** Sadly, I own nothing.  
>  **Characters:** Brawl, Caliber (OC), Memo (OC)  
>  **Beta:** ultharkitty

Brawl sat on a bench in the hallway in front of his superior’s office. He'd been back on Cybertron for over a quartex now and he could only guess why his commander wanted to see him.

The hallway was empty and big. It stretched away to both sides, and usually echoed with the sound of footfalls. But not then; then it was only Brawl.

It made him feel uncomfortable. He reached for his gun by reflex, but his hand grabbed air.

Right, he remembered. They had taken his gun after he’d accidentally shot someone. It honestly hadn’t been on purpose, but he’d been surprised and he hadn’t slept very well the last few orns, and- 

Brawl’s thoughts stumbled, his ventilation increased. He didn’t want to think of the sensor echoes he’d had recently, but they crawled through his mind like a foreign consciousness.

Memories of the last battle. The scorched field, the smell of ash and energon in the air, and the blood of the aliens they'd fought for. When their bodies burnt, it smelled worse than molten metal. The stench of smouldering wet carbon and so many other chemicals made Brawl’s tanks lurch.

His feet were sunk in the mud; walking was hard. And they weren't just walking, but fleeing.

Then there was that sound again: the fast clack-clack of silicon-chips rasping against each other. They were a black cloud, not smooth but edged. It looked aggressive, and it was.

It was the AI the aliens had created. The one they couldn’t defeat.

But the Cybertronians weren’t much help either.

Rocksteady wasn’t fast enough. Brawl saw him scream, his voice drowned out by the sound of the silicon cloud. He reached out of it, out to Brawl, and then dissolved.

His energon and other parts the cloud couldn’t assimilate – didn’t need – dropped to the ground.

Brawl wanted to throw up. He knew he’d needed to help him. He needed to help the others, but his feet were stuck and his gun was gone-

“Brawl?”

The tank snapped out of his flashback and looked up. His vents were whirling on their highest setting, and his processor was throbbing. He could only nod.

“You can come in now,” his superior said. He was a smaller root mode build, but artillery capable, and could upgrade his frame with different trailers and weapons depending on what was needed on the field. Caliber was a good superior, Brawl had known enough people to compare him with, but he was still worried.

Brawl followed the other into his office and sat down in front of the desk. There was someone else in there, but Brawl didn’t know him. He didn’t look military, way too small for that, but maybe he was a spy?

Brawl shifted on his chair. Why was he being interviewed in front of a spy?

“So, first things first. Good morning, Brawl,” Caliber said with a small smile.

Brawl nodded. He had to check if it was really morning. He didn’t feel like it. “Good morning, sir,” he replied, nodding towards the smaller mech as well. “Good morning.”

“How are you?” Caliber asked. It sounded casual, but Brawl was beginning to realise what this meeting might be about. 

“I’m fine, sir,” he lied. Since he’d been back, he'd been the main topic of gossip. His comrades in the barracks knew he hardly slept, and that he was jumpy. And then he’d shot someone by accident. Maybe they were taking him out of service? Brawl’s jaw clenched.

There was a rumour – had been a rumour ever since he rolled off the assembly line: you had to pay the army back for the time you were enlisted but couldn’t serve. Brawl had always saved most of his pay since he didn’t need that much, and had never been long enough on Cybertron to spent it all, so he probably wouldn’t have too much of a problem, but it struck him as unfair. Besides, he was totally fit for service.

“We heard things from your comrades,” his superior said, “that you lie awake on your berth most of the time, and other things. You also injured someone-“

“It was an accident!” Brawl interrupted, and added quickly, “Sir.”

“We know that.” Caliber nodded. “But we also know it’s not like you. Brawl, how many nights since you last recharged?”

Brawl shifted again, looking from his superior to the foreign mech and back. “Twelve?” He had to guess. Sometimes he’d slipped in a daze, but it had never been for long, not with the sensor echoes waiting for him. But they’d started to appear while he was awake, too. Just like in the hallway.

“But I’m otherwise okay,” Brawl tried to explain. “I got checked after the last battle, and my systems are all working fine.”

“There are some injuries you can’t see,” the other mech spoke up. He sounded too friendly to be a spy.

“How long have you served?” Caliber asked, taking Brawl by surprise.

“Uh, I think for about fifty eight vorns, sir,” Brawl answered with a shrug.

Caliber smiled. “That’s longer than some veterans are old. That’s even longer than I've existed.”

“Oh.” Brawl hadn’t known he was older. But he wasn’t jealous of the other’s position. Brawl was delta class, he wasn’t supposed to rise in the ranks, and he’d never wanted to. 

“And, Brawl,” Caliber continued, “You’re one of the most stable mechs I know. You’re experienced, you know how to handle situations, and it’s always an honour to serve with you.” 

Brawl’s battle masked moved as he opened his mouth and closed it again. He had no idea what to say.

“But I also know how hard it can be to ask for help in a situation where people look up to you.” Caliber’s optics dropped to his desk, and Brawl felt odd to know he was in that kind of position. People looked up to him? “That’s why we're offering you the help you didn’t ask for.”

A heavy silence fell over them, and Brawl’s jaw clenched again. He hadn’t even realised he needed help. Or hadn’t wanted to realise it.

His voice was weak when he finally broke the silence. “I’ll already be happy if I don’t have to be afraid of falling asleep any more.” He couldn’t look at them as he said it.

Caliber smiled at him. “We’re taking you off the roster for the time being.” Brawl tensed, but didn’t interrupt. “Memo here will see you once an orn and provide you with the help you need.”

The smaller mech stood up, and Brawl realised he could never have been a spy. He was civilian. Probably a psychiatrist. “I’m giving you a memory damper,” he said and put a small device on the desk. “Plugged in, it interrupts traffic between the defragged memory banks and the cache and other processor function. You'll be able to recharge without having to fear sensor echoes.”

“Oh…” Brawl muttered.

“And after you feel well enough,” Memo spoke again in a calm voice, not condescending, “maybe after a few quartex, I'd like to put your forward for a position as instructor.”

Brawl’s optics flickered in confusion.

“You've never had war sickness until now, and that after serving so long. It’s impressive.” The mech was certainly a psychiatrist, and Brawl wasn’t as uncomfortable as he’d thought he’d be with that.

“I’m certain you’ll be a great instructor,” Caliber insisted. “There are so many things you can teach newbuilds. You probably could even teach me a thing or two.” He laughed.

Brawl was still confused. He was too tired for all this. “So… I don’t have to pay for not being able to be deployed?”

Memo seemed bewildered; Caliber laughed again, and replied. “No. Of course not. I can’t believe that myth's still doing the rounds.”

Brawl stared at them.

“It might be best if you catch up on some recharge for now.” Memo rounded the desk, taking the device again and pressing it into Brawl’s hands. “After that, contact me and we'll talk about further treatment.”

After a few more words and “get well”s, Brawl was on his way back to his shared room.

He had to admit that he was looking forward to not being deployed for a while. Being an instructor should be fun.

He looked at the device, and sighed. Memory damper was the official name, but the ordinary soldiers called it _PTSD-box_.

Fifty eight vorns, and the war had finally caught up with him.


End file.
